Onset
by liviafan1
Summary: His breath hitches at the vision of her in his kitchen. She brushes a bare foot against the denim of her faded jeans, scratching a rough spot on her heel that's been bothering her since she started wearing those new stilettos. FUTUREFIC. COMPLETE.


His hands haven't stopped shaking all day. He spent most of the afternoon with them shoved deep in his coat pockets, sure that he had all the tells of a man in his position.

He spilled her coffee this morning at the precinct, shattering her favorite mug. He brought the pieces to her, holding them gingerly in his hand, somber as if she'd lost a favorite pet and not a mound of misshapen fired clay she'd picked up at a flee market one weekend. He apologized profusely before he could meet her gaze, only to find her stifling laughter behind her long fingers.

She wasn't laughing, however, when he, in his dazed state, bumped into a doorway, arms full of meticulously organized case files. No, she only pursed her lips, gathering up the scattered files on a huff, commanding him to his chair for the rest of the afternoon.

At noon, he _finally_ had somewhere else to be.

"You're off to that meeting with Black Pawn, right?" she asked, reaching for sticky note on the edge of her desk.

"Yeah," he replied, the lie waiting at the tip of his tongue. He brushed a quick kiss to her cheek without thinking, watching in horror as her cheeks flamed in front of him. Right. No PDA.

Ahem.

"Sorry," he mumbled quickly. She forced a small smile and nodded once before turning back to her paperwork. Dismissed.

But he'd had a plan, and with any luck she'd forgotten all about it by now. And, well, if she didn't…

No, she would.

He hoped, anyway.

He steps into the loft, fingers twitching at his side. He clenches them, feels like an antsy kid in kindergarten who can't sit still.

His breath hitches at the vision of her in his kitchen. She brushes a bare foot against the denim of her faded jeans, scratching a rough spot on her heel that's been bothering her since she started wearing those new stilettos she'd bought a week ago. The loop of her apron is twisted at the nape of her neck, beneath a messy bun.

He walks softly towards her, letting his hands brush her waist to wrap loosely around her. He rests his head against hers to feel the timber of the 60s song she hums lightly . He half expects her to stiffen, especially after his stunt (okay, _stunts) _at the precinct today, but he just feels her lean slightly into the shell of his body.

He smiles, pressing his lips to her cheek in greeting. His hands grip her waist lightly, calm and smooth. He sighs into her. The calmest he's been all day.

She reaches around, cradling a spoonful of pasta sauce. She holds it up to him, nudging him to wrap his mouth around the delicious red sauce.

"God, that's great," he mumbles in ecstasy.

"Yeah?" she asks, eyes light, her teeth tugging at her perfect pink mouth.

"Don't take my word for it." He pulls her into him, pressing his mouth against hers. He groans as her mouth sucks at a spot of sauce that lingers at the corner of his mouth. His hand slides to her back, slipping under the knot of her apron to skim across the sliver of skin he finds beneath her white tee shirt. He presses his palm into her warm skim gently, bowing her body into his.

"Rick," she breathes as she abandons the spoon in her hand to fist the tails of his shirt in her hand. He chuckles, low and throaty, as he hears the spoon clatter to the floor. Her tongue scrapes the roof of his mouth as her hands slide around to slip into his back pockets.

He laughs into her kiss, pulling away to nibble across the line of her jaw. "What are you doing back there?"

She moans, squeezing slightly.

"Jesus, Kate," he rasps, sucking lightly on her neck.

"Castle, I swear to God if you give me a hickey…"

"So you'll wear a turtleneck to work tomorrow." He shrugs.

"Speaking of work," she mutters breathlessly as his fingers slide up her shirt to tease at the underwire of her bra.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he mumbles into her skin.

"No, not—" He feels her breath hitch under his fingertips as his hand slides under the front clasp. "You-you've been acting weird today."

"Hmm. Not sure what you mean." He unsnaps her bra, playing dirty.

She groans, pushing him off her. "Castle," she warns, slipping her hands under her shirt to hook her bra together again.

He pouts. "Kate, everything is _fine._"

She crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, don't go all Beckett on me now," he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

She drops her hands wordlessly, shaking her head. She picks up the dirty spoon from the floor and brushes past him, stony-faced, to toss it into the sink.

"Kate…" He reaches for her, but her rigid posture and clenched fists stop him. She unties her apron with a flick of her wrist and lets it fall to the floor before stalking to their bedroom, leaving him with a broken plan and a pan of burning sauce.

* * *

><p>After completely abandoning the pasta, he orders their favorite dishes from the Chinese place a few blocks away. He sets the containers on the counter before rapping lightly on the bedroom door, murmuring promises of Kung Pao chicken.<p>

He makes his plate, daring to pour two glasses of Cabernet. He knows her. She might be angry, might be stubborn. But she's probably starving and that counts for more than anything.

He's broken their promise—at least, she thinks he has. He's hidden something from her after their agreement. No more secrets. It's his own fault. He should've known he wouldn't be able to keep it together.

She steps out ten minutes later, cocooned in her favorite pair of sweatpants and his blue tee shirt. He opens his mouth to say something—anything to make it better—but the words die on his lips as he notes the way her swollen eyes catch the light.

Shit. She'd been locked in their bedroom _crying._

Man, he just can_not_ get it right tonight.

New plan. Abandon ship.

She balances her glass and her plate in her hands as she canters back to the bedroom, content to continue to ignore him.

"Wait," he says desperately. He fumbles with the fortune cookie that he's had tucked in his pocket all day. "You forgot dessert," he explains softly.

She sighs, impatient, but allows him to place it on her plate before she turns away again, slipping into the bedroom once again.

"Damn," he mutters. He gathers up his plate and glass and sits down on the floor of her office outside the door.

He wants to go in—_needs _to go in—but he knows it'll only make things worse. If there's anything he's learned since they got over themselves eight months ago, it's that pushing her to talk before she's ready will only infect the wounds.

When he finishes, he sets his plate aside and pulls his laptop down onto the floor with him, playing around with the title of his next Nikki Heat novel.

When the door opens almost a full hour later, he pushes his computer aside and scrambles to his knees. His heart squeezes at the tears that fall down her face.

Please, _please_ be happy tears.

"_This_—" she lets out a startled breath, "This is why you've been a wreck all day?" she breathes in disbelief, clutching the small slip of paper in her palm.

"There was a ring in there, right?" he jokes. She chokes out an exasperated laugh and opens her other palm.

"Marry me, Kate. Marry me and I promise to aggravate the hell out of you for the rest of our lives."

She rolls her eyes, hastily wiping tears away with the back of her hand. She smiles and reaches for him, pulling him to his feet. "Of course I'll marry you, you fool."

He grins, kissing her swiftly as she lets out a happy, surprised gasp. He nudges her hand, slipping the ring from her hand. "You sure? There's no take-backs," he jokes.

"Just put it on me, already," she teases. He slides the ring onto her left hand, wrapping her into a hug. He sighs as she presses a kiss to his neck.

"I'm sorry about today. The secrets…I wasn't thinking," he says softly.

"You weren't really at Black Pawn today, were you?"

"Had to ask your father for permission, didn't I? Do this thing right?"

She pulls away from him, lifting her eyebrows. "Since when have we ever done things right?"

He shrugs. "Gotta start somewhere."

"You don't like how we've been doing it so far?" she asks, trailing her fingers lightly down his chest.

He snorts. "Four years is a long time, Beckett."

She narrows her eyes, mouth twitching.

Oh. That's a look.

"But, oh, _so_ worth the wait," he growls before capturing her lips.

* * *

><p><strong>Not usually a fan of proposal fics, but...I need it after 47 Seconds. So just...let me have this? Haha. Love you guys.<strong>

**Let me know what you think.**

**Olivia**


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